The Guinea Cat
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: Leslie is forced to test Roarke's experimental new potion. Follows 'The Return of Solange'.
1. Chapter 1

This story takes place on the weekend during which the episode "God Child/Curtain Call" actually aired. In the story just prior to this one, Roarke tells the newly-hired Lawrence that "it's a dirty job, but someone has to do it." Lawrence actually states in one episode that Roarke said this to him when he was hired, so I thought it was only fair to include it in the story of Lawrence's employment! (_Thank you, thank you, thank you_ to Harry2 for his very welcome encouragement. Enjoy, Harry!)   
  
§ § § -- October 29, 1983  
  
The weeks passed and Lawrence proved to fit in surprisingly well. Nonetheless, there were regular occasions on which something Roarke did or said caught him off guard in a way that usually left Leslie laughing, and secretly relieved that someone besides herself wasn't completely familiar with the magic and mystery that surrounded Roarke and his island.  
  
Lawrence and Leslie got along fairly well, but the first real test of their working relationship came one evening a week before Halloween, when Roarke received a letter requesting a very odd fantasy that had him in the cellar mixing up potions the rest of the week. The fantasies for the weekend of October 29 and 30 were par for the course: one involved a little girl who wanted to ask God why her deceased parents had been taken from her, while the other dealt with a man who wanted to revive his old TV act with his two former partners for one final performance. Thus all was quiet that Saturday evening when Lawrence stopped by the main house on his way back to his cottage. There he found Roarke in deep contemplation and Leslie reading.  
  
"If there's nothing pressing, sir," Lawrence said, "I'd like to say good night."  
  
Roarke, jolted out of his reverie, looked up at him, then glanced at Leslie. "As a matter of fact, Lawrence, there is something... Since I have both of you here, would you and Leslie kindly come with me to the cellar?"  
  
That got Leslie's attention. Never before had she gone down there, even without Roarke's knowledge, much less at his invitation. Whatever this was, it had to be something momentous. "You actually want us to come into the cellar?" Leslie asked carefully, to make sure she'd heard right.  
  
"Yes, I do," Roarke said. "Follow me, if you would, please."  
  
So Leslie and Lawrence followed Roarke down the hall towards the kitchen, but stopped about halfway at a closed door which concealed a spiral stairway leading up to the bell tower, whose bell Lawrence now rang by pushing a button on a post just in front of the veranda. Instead of going up, however, they descended to the cellar in solemn single file, giving Leslie the creepy feeling of being in an ancient Frankenstein movie.  
  
In the cellar lab, which to Leslie's surprise turned out to be quite large and crammed from cement floor to overhead joists with shelves containing hundreds of mysterious little bottles lined up in precise order, Roarke said nothing right away. Instead he moved swiftly around the room removing seemingly random bottles from shelves and placing them on a stomach-height stainless-steel table in the middle of the room. Once he was done, he turned finally to his puzzled audience.  
  
"I recently received a request," Roarke began, "to grant someone his fantasy of being a cat for a weekend..."  
  
"Excuse me, sir," broke in Lawrence, looking slightly confused. "Do you mean a house cat, fully domesticated?"  
  
Roarke nodded. "Exactly," he said.  
  
Leslie was a bit disappointed when Lawrence's face cleared and resumed its usual blank, vaguely expectant expression. "Thank you, sir."  
  
"You're very welcome," Roarke answered, looking perfectly serious. Leslie wanted to roll her eyes, but for some reason she didn't quite dare. "As I said, I received this request. This guest is very wealthy and quite eccentric, and rather well-known, I might add: J. Anderson Rollins."  
  
Lawrence still looked blank, but Leslie blinked in recognition. "The ski-resort tycoon from Aspen?"  
  
"The very same," Roarke told her. "He has sent a full fifty thousand dollars for his fantasy; and I might add that I find myself working unusually hard to earn that fee. I have never attempted something like this before, and it has been necessary to make one attempt after another to create a potion that will do the trick without causing undue harm. Unfortunately, there is only one way I can test the potion -- I cannot determine its safety without using someone as a very carefully supervised guinea pig." Both Leslie and Lawrence were beginning to look apprehensive; they could both see where he was going with this. "And, I am sorry to relate, I could find no one willing to fill that role at any price whatsoever. Therefore, I am forced to ask one of you two to volunteer, if you would, please."  
  
Lawrence's only reaction was to send an eyebrow chasing his receding hairline. Leslie flat-out blanched and croaked, "Volunteer?"  
  
Lawrence eyed her and observed dryly, "I do believe that is what the man said." Roarke turned away in order to mix his latest version of the cat potion.  
  
"Well, I think you should do it," Leslie said. "I mean, that's your job; you're Mr. Roarke's assistant, and you're paid to do stuff like this."  
  
"Oh?" Lawrence's voice was acerbic. "You've been here longer than I, miss. I suggest that Mr. Roarke should take seniority into account and let you have the exciting privilege of testing this concoction."  
  
Leslie glared at him in disbelief. "Seniority!" she echoed incredulously. "I thought seniority meant you were supposed to be exempt from things like this! It's the low man on the totem pole who's the most expendable, remember?"  
  
"I beg your pardon," said Lawrence, affronted. "I do not, in all honesty, believe I am 'expendable'. I seem to recall that I was hired because an assistant was needed. Nothing was said about the necessity of having a second assistant on duty."  
  
"But..." Leslie began.  
  
A loud "AHEM!" killed the rapidly escalating argument. "Forgive me for interrupting this..._discussion_," said Roarke, heavy on the irony, "but it seems to me that we are having some difficulty determining who is to be the subject of the experiment. I see I shall simply have to choose someone to undergo the test."  
  
Leslie's pallor grew more pronounced; Lawrence, visibly perturbed at last, gave Roarke what could be described only as a pop-eyed stare. "Oh, Mr. Roarke, no..." Leslie protested faintly.  
  
"Perhaps you should flip a coin, sir," Lawrence suggested tightly.  
  
Roarke's features lit. "An excellent idea," he said approvingly. "Has either of you a coin I could use, perhaps?"  
  
By now Leslie was so aghast that she could only gape at her adoptive father in horror; however, Lawrence went through his pockets and came up with a quarter. "Right here, sir," he said.  
  
"Thank you," said Roarke, just then catching sight of Leslie edging toward the staircase in the hope of getting there unnoticed. "Kindly stay put, young lady. One of you may call a side."  
  
Lawrence, out of apparent chivalry, paused, but somehow Leslie felt robbed of her wits. That is, until he inquired slyly, "Cat got your tongue, miss?" This earned him a blazing glare from her, but she didn't recover in time to prevent Lawrence from turning to Roarke and requesting calmly, "Heads, please, sir."  
  
"Very well," said Roarke, and gave the coin a toss, caught it and overturned it on his arm. He looked up.  
  
"Heads," he announced. 


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- October 29, 1983  
  
Leslie could actually feel all the blood drain from her face at the realization that she had lost the coin toss. Her shocked gaze met that of Roarke, who looked dismayingly unperturbed. She felt as though she were trapped in a bad dream, with Lawrence's serenely triumphant gaze on her and Roarke solemnly approaching her with a vial of the cat potion.  
  
"But..." Leslie floundered for some kind of protest and finally came out with, "But I don't want to be a cat!"  
  
"Too late, my dear," chuckled Lawrence.  
  
"You be quiet," she yelled at him, rattled as much by the fact that there seemed to be a latent streak of sadism in him as by the situation as a whole. "Just because you won the stupid coin toss and you don't have to go through this freaky experiment for the sake of some crazy rich guy -- "  
  
Roarke finally seemed to take pity on her and dropped a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Lawrence, I think you have said quite enough," he observed. Lawrence abruptly shut up, giving Leslie the cold comfort of seeing him properly subdued. Roarke then turned to Leslie. "I promise you, my daughter, this will not go unappreciated," he said. "Here, now, drink it quickly, all at once."  
  
Mutinously she compressed her lips, staring distrustfully at Roarke from under her bangs. "What do I get out of this?" she wanted to know.  
  
Roarke sighed in exasperation. "You're stalling, Leslie Susan, and you know it. Take the vial."  
  
Lawrence actually uttered the phrase "Tut tut," adding, "I had no idea you could be so greedy, miss."  
  
Leslie ignored him only with enormous effort, keeping her gaze fixed firmly on Roarke. "Look, you already told us that you couldn't pay anyone else any amount of money to do this. If you're really going to make it worth my while, I'd like to know what my reward is now, in case I wind up being a cat forever."  
  
"You will not be a cat forever, my dear Leslie, and well you know it," Roarke said flatly, the tone of his voice indicating that he was running out of patience. Once more he offered the vial. "I will not put up with any more delaying tactics on your part. Drink it, right now."  
  
Sensing she had reached Roarke's limit, Leslie reluctantly accepted the vial and studied its contents dubiously. After a moment she looked at Roarke with renewed horror. "It looks like mud," she said.  
  
"I realize that," Roarke said, his manner softening somewhat. "An unfortunate side effect of the combinations I was forced...uh, obligated to use. However, I added something that should give it the taste of chocolate."  
  
_"Should?"_ Leslie repeated, swallowing hard. "And suppose it doesn't? Gosh, Mr. Roarke, I don't think I can do this. I really don't think I could force myself to..." Her voice trailed off at the look of desperation that tinged Roarke's features. It affected her despite herself.  
  
Then Lawrence said wickedly, "Would you care for some assistance, miss?"  
  
This time they both glared at him, Roarke with strong disapproval and Leslie ready to strangle him. "Lawrence, please control yourself," Roarke requested in exasperation. The Englishman composed himself with an effort and murmured something in apology, and Roarke turned back to Leslie.  
  
"Imagine the stories you will have to tell your grandchildren someday," he said with a weak smile. Leslie rolled her eyes, and Roarke sighed again, playing his trump card. "Leslie, please."  
  
Leslie had never seen such a lost-little-boy expression on anyone, and as out of place as it looked on Roarke, she succumbed to it. "Oh, all right," she grumbled at last, "but if I throw up, you'd better not blame me." So saying, she took a deep breath and held it, pinched her nose shut to help dull the flavor that Roarke claimed was chocolate but she suspected was far from it, closed her eyes and leaned back from the waist up, tipping the vial completely upside down to drain the entire dose in one huge gulp.  
  
She never did remember whether it actually tasted like chocolate or not, because she had time only to let out the breath she'd been holding before she froze in place like a marble statue. Her eyes popped to the size of golf balls, and then she collapsed in an unconscious heap. Roarke bent in alarm and began to reach for her, but abruptly drew back when Leslie became instantaneously enshrouded in thick smoke the color of the potion. The two men heard a small, very peculiar popping noise, then a loud hiss. The smoke cleared, and there on the floor was a badly frightened Siamese cat.  
  
For once Lawrence's expression matched his actual feelings. "My God, sir, it worked!" he breathed.  
  
"So it did," murmured Roarke, himself more than a little astonished. Slowly he stretched one hand out to the hissing feline. "Easy, child, it's only me," he said soothingly.  
  
"Here, kitty, kitty," Lawrence contributed and put out a hand. The cat drew back, ears flattened and claws unsheathed, its blue eyes huge with terror. Lawrence took a step, and that was too much for the cat. It fled like a shot, streaking up the stairs and out of sight.  
  
"Leslie, stop!" Roarke shouted, and he and Lawrence rushed up in hot pursuit. Needless to say, the cat was far too fast for them and, by the time they reached the study, had vanished.  
  
"Oh no, sir. The French doors are wide open," Lawrence groaned. A flicker of light cast momentary shadows in the room and both men went to the open doors to see where it had come from. Their answer came about thirty seconds later when they heard a rumble of thunder in the distance.  
  
Roarke closed his eyes. "I was afraid something like this might happen," he murmured, half to himself.  
  
Lawrence straightened to his full height and regarded Roarke sympathetically. "You aren't to blame, sir," he said. "You needed to test the potion on someone, after all. Otherwise, how could you be certain that our future guest would have a satisfactory experience during his stay here?"  
  
"I suggest," Roarke said, annoyed, "that you consider the problem we now face, Lawrence. It's preparing to storm, and Leslie is frightened of thunderstorms. I don't doubt for a moment that this fear has survived her transition into feline form; and since she has fled the house and is out in the open, she will very likely panic. By the time she grows weary enough to stop running, she could be miles from here and caught in the midst of the storm. And in the jungle, she will be all but impossible to find."  
  
Lawrence cleared his throat in embarrassment and actually hung his head. "I'm very sorry, sir," he said. "As a matter of fact, I am usually not so vindictive. I'm afraid the worst of me came out due to my relief at having won the coin toss."  
  
"Indeed," was all Roarke said to that. "Well, there is no help for it. We will have to put together a search party and try to find Leslie. Please drive to Julie's house and ask her and Frida to come back with you, and I will make some phone calls." He found himself wishing this had happened two months ago, before most of Leslie's friends had left for college elsewhere. The only one left was Maureen Tomai, and he promptly called her house and spoke with her parents for a few minutes. They volunteered to bring Maureen over and join in the search.  
  
§ § §  
  
If there was anything left of the human Leslie within the mind of the cat she had become, it wasn't apparent from the outside. She tore through the tropical foliage, veering in some random direction every time lightning flared, flushing out any number of assorted small animals as she went. She ran and ran until an owl, out prowling, dive-bombed her in a royal fury and scared her straight up a palm tree, where she knocked down a coconut and sent a loudly indignant parrot into flight for a more private sanctuary.  
  
The palm tree was one of countless dozens that grew like oversized weeds all over Fantasy Island; and this one gave her a better view of the storm than she liked, either as human or cat. The wind had picked up and sheet lightning illuminated the jungle; occasionally a multi-forked bolt would stab through the air and set off a crack of thunder that wrung yowls of terror from the Siamese. Some instinct, whether human or feline, told the little beast that a tree wasn't the best place to be in a thunderstorm; but she was almost as scared of trying to climb down as she was of the storm. So she clung in place, claws sunk deeply into the trunk, swaying with the tree in the rising wind.  
  
The same owl returned unexpectedly and zoomed straight for her, yellow eyes gleaming maliciously with every burst of lightning. The bird caught the cat completely by surprise and shocked the feline into loosing her precarious grip on the palm tree. Down she plummeted, twisting her body instinctively to land on her feet; but it was a longer way down than she had thought, and the ground was coming up far too fast. 


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- October 29, 1983  
  
Lawrence returned with Julie and Frida a few minutes before Maureen and her parents arrived; Maureen and Frida greeted each other, and then they all turned to Roarke, who had been standing by the still-open French doors. "Ah," he said, "thank you all for coming."  
  
"Is something wrong, Mr. Roarke?" Romana Tomai asked.  
  
"Where's Leslie?" Maureen put in suddenly.  
  
"Leslie is the reason I have called you here," Roarke said, glanced at Lawrence and then studied the small group. "I must ask you to not let one word of this go beyond this house -- please."  
  
"We give you our word," replied Janos Tomai.  
  
"Very well...thank you," Roarke said, and with that explained to the five newcomers what had happened to Leslie. Startled glances were exchanged, but no one said anything, except for Julie.  
  
"Good Lord, uncle!" she blurted. "I thought you knew what you were doing. I can't believe you actually had to perform a guinea-pig test on someone."  
  
"More like 'guinea _cat'_," ventured Maureen, and she and Frida both giggled. Maureen's parents cleared their throats meaningfully, and both girls subsided, turning pink.  
  
"It's no laughing matter, Frida," Julie chided in her turn. "Who knows what'll happen to poor Leslie out there! Do you think we have any hope of finding her, uncle? Especially in this storm."  
  
"Leslie does not like thunderstorms," Frida informed her.  
  
"Figures," Julie commented, shooting her godfather a dark look. "Of all the nights to test this thing, you had to do it on a night when a storm's coming. You really ought to be ashamed..."  
  
"Sir," Lawrence cut indignantly into her tirade. "Are you going to simply stand there and take this...this dressing-down she's giving you?"  
  
Roarke sighed; he'd lost track of how many times he'd done that this evening. "Never mind, Lawrence," he said quietly but firmly. "You aren't completely innocent yourself." He fixed Lawrence with a particular look, just long enough to make the Englishman shift his weight uncomfortably; then he took in the group as a whole. "Very well. There are enough cars for us to search in three groups. Julie, you take the girls; Mr. and Mrs. Tomai may take another car; and Lawrence and I will take the third. And here is a little something that might tempt Leslie." Roarke pulled open a desk drawer and extracted a package of cat treats, making everyone wonder how he happened to so conveniently have such an item stashed away there. Opening the package, he shook a few morsels into each searcher's hands, then nodded. "Good luck, everyone."  
  
They split into their designated groups and set off in different directions. Julie, driving the car with Frida riding shotgun and Maureen in the middle seat leaning over the back of the front seat, shook her head as she maneuvered the car along the coastal road known across the island as the Ring Road. "I just can't believe uncle would do something so dangerous," she railed. "I can't believe he had to. I always thought he knew exactly what to do to bring a fantasy to life, no matter how off-the-wall it was. And now it turns out he's endangered Leslie by forcing her to be his test subject! Whoever requested that stupid fantasy, I hope uncle turns him down."  
  
"Huh," Maureen said with a grin. "I'd think it'd be more of a punishment to make the person go through with the fantasy."  
  
Julie met her gaze in the rearview mirror long enough to make a face and then let out a reluctant laugh. "You could be right," she said. "I just don't want to see uncle getting sued."  
  
"That is why he is testing the potion," Frida pointed out sensibly. "If something happens to Leslie, it is a bad thing, but Mr. Roarke can help her. Then he can also tell the guest he cannot have his fantasy."  
  
"Good thinking, Frida," Maureen said. "So, well, there you go, Julie. There's no point in having a fit about it now that it's done. We just need to keep an eye out for a Siamese cat."  
  
§ § §  
  
It had finally started raining, and now every leaf in sight was shedding water in bucketfuls. In the meager shelter of an oversized leaf, a little Siamese cat huddled in misery, staring out at the rain and cringing every time lightning flashed. But the worst of the storm was already beginning to move away from the island, and soon the cat settled down enough to try to lick some of the mud and excess rainwater from her paws. She had walked gingerly along for some time after falling out of the palm tree, but she wasn't really hurt and now had a chance to rest and look around.  
  
Then, somewhere in the distance, there came the faint sound of human voices calling. "Leslie! Leslie! Where are you?" And once, "Come, kitty, come along, puss..." That one triggered some half-buried memory in the feline brain, and the cat leaped back out into the rain and fled till she could hear the voices no more.  
  
§ § §  
  
After three hours of fruitless searching, the group gathered at the main house, all of them disheartened to report that no one had found the missing cat. Roarke again thanked Julie, Frida and the Tomais for their help in the search and sent them all home for the night. Lawrence drove them back, and when he returned to the main house he saw Roarke staring at the cascading rain.  
  
"It's positively pouring out, sir," he said.  
  
"Yes, unfortunately," Roarke agreed heavily. "I suggest that the best we can do is to hope she found shelter for the night, and get some sleep ourselves. Tomorrow morning we can resume the search."  
  
"The fantasies, sir?" Lawrence began.  
  
Roarke frowned. "They will be taken care of," he said curtly. "Go and get some sleep."  
  
Lawrence nodded and murmured, "Good night, sir," turning and leaving the study slowly. Roarke waited till he heard the door close before allowing his distress to show. In spite of himself, he felt guilty. Logically, he knew it was necessary to test the potion, but Leslie had been so reluctant to be the subject of said test that he had begun to wonder if she, and everyone else who had balked at trying the potion, knew something he didn't. By the time Roarke could bring himself to close the French doors, douse the light and go to bed, he had decided he had no choice but to inform J. Anderson Rollins that the fantasy was ungrantable and return the tycoon's money. Trying to fulfill a rich man's every wish was hardly worth his worry over his daughter.  
  
Meantime, Lawrence opened a huge black umbrella and strolled slowly through the heavy rain toward his cottage, unable to stop himself from thinking hard as well. At first he tried to shrug off his thoughts, but they wouldn't be ignored; finally, he appeased himself by deciding that even if it was still raining like this in the morning, he would go out and resume his search for Leslie. He was chagrined to realize that he had a bruised conscience over his baiting remarks when it fell to her to test the potion, and it was the only way he knew to satisfy himself that he had done all he could. 


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- October 30, 1983  
  
Lawrence had set his alarm just to be sure he kept his promise to himself; but when it went off he grumbled and slapped blindly at it for several moments before remembering why he had set it in the first place. "You daft old fool," he muttered to himself, before his conscience prodded him again and he sighed deeply. Now that it was daylight, perhaps they stood some chance of finding the cat.  
  
It was still raining lightly, so he donned a bright-yellow rain slicker and took his umbrella with him. At the last moment he remembered something and went to his tiny kitchen to retrieve a small packet he had bought the previous evening on his way home. Seeing Roarke with the cat treats had given him the idea, and he could only hope it would work.  
  
He worked his way in the general direction of the main house, staring up into every tree he possibly could as he went along and calling now and then, "Here, kitty!" He didn't dare let himself think of the cat as Leslie, the way Roarke did. He'd learned during last night's search that it only baited his conscience all the more, and he felt he was smarting enough as it was.  
  
After about half an hour he paused near a willow tree within sight of the main house. The rain had stopped; the sky was still gray, but solid blue showed toward the west, promising a beautiful day. Heartened by this, Lawrence peered into the tree and called softly, "Hello, kitty, are you there?"  
  
To his enormous amazement, he was rewarded with a loud "MEOW!" Lawrence pulled himself up straight with startlement, listening to the repeated noise while it grew from mere meowing into the strange feline singsong peculiar to the Siamese breed. There was something almost human about the sound, and Lawrence actually muttered aloud to his conscience, "Oh, _do_ shut up!"  
  
The cat's wailing had an unexpected side effect: the door to the main house opened, and Roarke strode across the porch, drawn by the noise. Just at the top of the steps to the sidewalk, he spied Lawrence in front of the willow tree, and paused to watch with interest while Lawrence dug around in a pocket and pulled out a wad of something Roarke couldn't quite recognize from this distance. Slowly Lawrence extended his arm into the leaves, all the while crooning soothing noises. Roarke advanced a little farther, enormously curious and hopeful.  
  
"Lawrence?" he questioned, just above a whisper.  
  
"Good morning, sir," responded Lawrence in the same soft singsong tones he was using on the cat. Roarke was close enough now to spot his assistant's quarry crouching in a fork in the tree trunk, and ascertained with great amusement that Lawrence was doing his utmost to charm the cat out of the tree with the biggest wad of catnip Roarke had ever seen!  
  
Once Roarke came into its sight, the cat had ceased its meowing, and now was eyeing Lawrence suspiciously. Lawrence partially loosened his grip on the catnip and dangled it temptingly in front of the huge blue eyes. "Come on, kitty," he coaxed, "it's all right now..."  
  
All at once the nature of the cat's crouch changed; and before Roarke could give any warning, the Siamese leaped. Roarke took two quick steps back as the cat landed atop Lawrence, who went down with a startled shout and let the catnip fly. Both he and the animal were covered with the stuff. Roarke gave Lawrence a hand; and as the Englishman was gaining his footing they both heard a peculiar pop, just like the previous evening. Instantly they looked around, just in time to see Leslie sneeze. She shook her head hard, sneezed again, picked herself up and doubled over -- still sneezing.  
  
Deeply relieved that she seemed all right otherwise, Roarke pulled her to him and brushed some of the catnip off her bedraggled clothing. "Leslie, are you all right, child?" he asked anxiously.  
  
She let loose one last sneeze, coughed hard for a moment, and finally gave Roarke a plaintive look. "I'm allergic to catnip," she croaked in a startlingly hoarse voice.  
  
Roarke and Lawrence looked at each other in surprise and then began to laugh, as much from relief as anything else. Leslie shot them both a disgusted glare, then sneezed explosively, prompting a chuckling Roarke to lead her back to the main house with a reassuring arm around her shoulders. Lawrence followed them along, curious to hear Leslie's story.  
  
Inside the main house, Roarke detained his daughter for a moment. "Before you go up, Leslie," he said, "I have just one question. Do you remember anything about having been a cat?"  
  
Leslie stopped where she stood, thought it over for a moment and then shook her head. "No, I don't think so," she said. "The last thing I remember after I drank the potion was feeling like someone was rearranging my insides, and then I guess I must have fainted or something. The next thing I knew I was lying on the ground with catnip all over me, sneezing my lungs out."  
  
Roarke chuckled again. "I see," he said. To Lawrence he remarked, "The catnip was a very good idea, Lawrence. Thank you for your efforts this morning."  
  
"You're quite welcome, sir," Lawrence said. "I think I should get some breakfast, if you don't mind."  
  
"By all means," Roarke agreed, and Lawrence departed. Roarke then went to Leslie and smoothed her tangled hair, dislodging some catnip as he did so. "It would appear, from what happened this morning, that catnip reverses the potion's effects," he said thoughtfully. "I'll have to test it further, I'm afraid."  
  
"Not on me," Leslie said immediately, meaning to be firm, but sounding pleading instead.  
  
Roarke smiled. "No, you have endured more than enough," he said. "I'll try to think of some compensation. Meantime, I suggest you take a long, relaxing bath, and then rest for the day. Since cats are nocturnal creatures, I suspect you were probably awake all night; so try to get some sleep."  
  
"Best idea I've heard all weekend," Leslie said, and Roarke smiled as she headed up the stairs, yawning and letting out one more sneeze on the way.  
  
§ § § -- October 31, 1983  
  
Leslie seemed back to normal the next morning as the trio saw their weekend guests off on the charter; but she still looked a little pale, and at least one of the departing guests had asked if she was feeling all right. Roarke had noted with some concern that she had eaten nothing at all the previous day and was beginning to wonder if he should take her to the doctor.  
  
Once the plane was safely in the air, Roarke and Lawrence both turned to Leslie curiously and Roarke gave voice to his thoughts. "Are you sure you're feeling all right, Leslie?"  
  
She cocked her head quizzically, and Lawrence scowled at her. "For heaven's sake, miss," he said somewhat impatiently, "you haven't spoken a solitary word all morning."  
  
Roarke eyed him. "If you ask her whether the cat has her tongue, Lawrence, you will be the recipient of the next test version of the potion." Lawrence looked revolted enough by this threat to subside.  
  
All of a sudden there was a horrible noise from Roarke's right, and both men turned sharply as Leslie choked, gagged and began to cough violently, doubling over away from them. She bent so low towards the ground that Roarke caught her at the waist to keep her from falling over. At last, after several agonizing minutes, she slowly straightened, clutching her stomach. Her face was paler than ever.  
  
"What on earth happened to you, miss?" Lawrence demanded in fascination.  
  
Leslie spared him only an irritated glance. "Mr. Roarke," she began, but her voice croaked to the point of unrecognizability, and she winced sharply when she tried to clear her throat. Quickly Roarke signaled one of the native girls, who brought Leslie a glass of pineapple juice. Her expression was one of profound gratitude as she drank without stopping for so much as a breath.  
  
When she lowered the empty glass, Roarke inquired insistently, "Are you all right?"  
  
Leslie sighed deeply, hummed for a moment to test her voice, then finally nodded at Roarke. "I think so, now anyway."  
  
"So what happened?" Lawrence persisted. "Were you sick, or what?"  
  
Leslie rolled her eyes. "Mr. Roarke, I think you're just going to have to tell that J. Anderson Rollins to think up some other fantasy to live out. There's no way that potion's going to work in its current state, because that's the fifth hairball I've coughed up since yesterday afternoon!"  
  
Roarke stared at her in shock, and Lawrence groaned aloud. "I knew there was some reason I disliked cats," he said to no one in particular, and with that stalked away from them. Leslie scowled after him, while Roarke lost his battle to suppress his hearty laughter.  
  
THE END 


End file.
